


Fall from Grace

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Billionaire Iwaizumi, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death (in addition to Major Character Death), Reporter Oikawa, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You shouldn’t be in here.”<br/>“Who’s going to stop me? Are you going to get up out of that chair and kick me out?”<br/>“I might. You seem like the type who needs an ass-kicking.”<br/>“But I think you like having me here. It’s because I’m so beautiful.”<br/>“I’m blind, you dumbass, but if your voice is anything to go by, you probably look like a dumbass, too.”<br/>“Mean!”</p><p>Years after a nearly-fatal injury put an end to his days in the sun, billionaire Iwaizumi Hajime rarely leaves the library in his home. But as a charity gala is hosted in the downstairs of his home, Iwaizumi is accosted by a stray party guest who slipped past the velvet ropes and into a deeper part of him. </p><p>Reporter Oikawa Tooru sneaks into Iwaizumi’s private quarters for a story but gets more than he ever bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall from Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 30 Day Kagehina Challenge Day 29: if they'd met earlier/later in life

It is the ticket of the season.

Anyone who is anyone wants an invitation to the ball hosted by Iwaizumi Hajime, a fairly young but reclusive former socialite who is rumored to have not left his home for over three years. Not since the accident.

And journalist Oikawa Tooru has decided that he isn’t leaving until he gets a quick chat with Sendai’s own version of Bruce Wayne.

Getting past the rope line cordoning off the parts of the house guests are not welcome to visit is easy enough. The guards are a little more tricky. He really hopes Tobio-chan will forgive him for the un-invitation he is about to receive, thanks to the distraction Oikawa has so thoughtfully concocted.

But he _has_ to see Iwaizumi. He just has to. Not a single beat writer has been able to hear the story of what brought Iwaizumi’s boisterous social life to a skidding halt. Did he crash a Ferrari? Did he get into a fight with Yakuza thugs and barely live to tell the tale? Was he actually Batman? Nobody knows, and Oikawa won’t leave the house until he is the one who does.

Oikawa curses the number of rooms in the house, but one silver lining is that a majority of them are locked. It’s unlikely that Iwaizumi would lock himself in a room when there are perfectly good security measures ensuring that he will be left alone. The only thing wrong with the night’s security is that they are no match for Oikawa Tooru.

If the blueprints of the house Oikawa slavishly pored over were correct, the only room left on the first floor he hasn’t checked is the library. Iwaizumi has never struck him as the reading type, but he checks anyway.

The door is the only one that is unlocked.

There is a loud creak when Oikawa pushes it open, making him wince at the utter ineptitude of his stealth. However, he forgets all about that when, in the glow of the crackling fireplace, sits a wheelchair with a familiar looking occupant.

“Kindaichi, you can just leave it on the table. You can take the rest of the night off.”

Oikawa freezes. He momentarily debates pretending to be this Kindaichi before he dismisses the idea that Iwaizumi is stupid enough not to recognize the voice of someone he clearly knows. Instead, he answers, “Not Kindaichi, but I hope I’m not a disappointment.”

Iwaizumi jolts in his chair, head swiveling around the room with pale, cloudy eyes. “Who are you?”

The snide “don’t you know” dies on Oikawa’s lips when he realizes what this means. “You’re blind.”

“Ah,” Iwaizumi says with a sarcastic sigh. “Your name must be Captain Obvious.”

With a chuckle, Oikawa shakes his head, not concerned that Iwaizumi can’t see him do it. “Not so much. Oikawa Tooru, at your service.”

Growling under his breath, Iwaizumi says, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Oikawa sits in the highboy chair across from Iwaizumi’s wheelchair with a thud loud enough he know the other man can hear. “Who’s going to stop me? Are you going to get up out of that chair and kick me out?”

Irritation flashes on Iwaizumi’s features. “I might. You seem like the type who needs an ass-kicking.”

Even a reporter would not miss the change in Iwaizumi at this point. Since Oikawa identified himself, the recluse has sat up straighter and straighter in his chair, and his voice has become clearer as if he is remembering how to use it. Maybe this will be good for them both. “But I think you like having me here,” he coos. “It’s because I’m so beautiful.”

“I’m blind, you dumbass, but if your voice is anything to go by, you probably _look_ like a dumbass, too.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms, as if his comment brooks no argument.

“Mean, mean Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. “Here I am, injecting some much-needed life into your sullen little library, and this is how you repay my kindness?” Iwaizumi snorts. “See what I mean? So rude!”

“Don’t call me that, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “We are not family. We are not friends. I’m not your anything-chan.”

Not in the least offended, Oikawa says, “You know, Iwa-chan, for a fairly decent looking guy, you have an ugly soul. Only an ugly soul could hate someone like me.”

Iwaizumi laughs loud and long, and Oikawa pretends that the sound doesn’t make his heart stutter. “Yeah, you are definitely a dumbass. How does the _Blue Castle Review_ even justify hiring an idiot like you? Just listening to you talk makes me want to take a shower.”

“How do you know I write for the _Review_?” Oikawa pouts. “You can’t even read it.”

A smirk crosses Iwaizumi’s face. “K.U.N.I.M.I., pull up all articles from the past week’s issues of the _Blue Castle Review_ and list by author.”

At this command, a monotone voice reads off article titles and authors, including the three pieces that Oikawa had written for this week’s editions. Surprised, Oikawa looks around the room, looking for the computer that contains this suitably impressive AI.

“You can stop looking. It’s built into the house.”

Oikawa glares at Iwaizumi. “I wasn’t looking for it,” he denies. “I was wondering what K.U.N.I.M.I. stands for.”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “It doesn’t stand for anything, really. I just called it that so I never forget.”

There is a sad, lilting quality in Iwaizumi’s voice as he says this, which tugs at something in Oikawa. “Was Kunimi someone you knew?”

“Stop fishing for a story, Oikawa, because I’m not giving you one. That’ll happen over my dead body.”

Though every journalistic instinct in Oikawa screams for him to press on and get a story that will sell papers like crazy, he does something he can’t recall ever having to do in the eight years he’s been an investigative reporter: reverse psychology. “I did come here looking for a story, but I swear I won’t publish anything you don’t want me to.”

“On your honor as a journalist, I suppose,” Iwaizumi says with a sneer. “I’m impressed that you have the balls to say that to my face when I know you don’t mean it.”

Oikawa sighs. “I’ve already written my next three feature pieces,” he lies, “and you’re hardly news compared to the gala downstairs. People stopped caring what happened to you years ago, so why would I waste my time with you unless I wanted to be here?”

At this, Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes. “You are a terrible liar for someone who is basically paid to do it. Please tell me about how you’re just interested in knowing my every secret out of the goodness of your heart. I’m dying to hear this.”

“You’re so mean! Mean, mean, _mean_!” However, the words are said with a smile on Oikawa’s face. “That’s what I get for showing any kindness to a rude old grouch like you.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and chuckles. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not falling for it. Just because I’m blind, that doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft in the head. You’re working me, trying to make me cave just to prove you wrong.”

This draws a smile from Oikawa, because it is exactly what he has been trying to do. It’s almost refreshing to know that Iwaizumi is too sharp for it, even if it makes Oikawa burn with the desire to know this man better. Even if said man is giving him absolutely nothing.

“Fine, fine. You win.” Oikawa moves to kneel in front of Iwaizumi, still stricken by how handsome this hermit really is. It’s quite rude. “Just let me give you something I don’t think anyone’s given you in a while, and if you don’t like it, I’ll leave right now.”

Just as Iwaizumi opens his mouth to protest, Oikawa plants a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. He can’t explain what made him decide to do this, other than feeling ill at the very thought of someone like Iwaizumi going the rest of his life without the touch of another human being. Even this Kindaichi, whoever he is, does not light that fire in Iwaizumi, the one that slings casual insults and quips like cannonballs.

When Oikawa leans back, he notices that Iwaizumi’s face is very still. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to, and because you need it.”

Iwaizumi’s face darkens. “You shouldn’t do things like that without thinking. What if I’m not into guys? That can be considered assault.”

“It doesn’t matter. Lips are all the same in the dark.”

His mouth open to retort, Iwaizumi snaps his jaw shut and turns away from Oikawa. “Kunimi was the son of one of my business partners,” he quietly offers. “He and I were messing around, just trying to have a good time. He was probably too young for me, but he was hot and I wanted him.

“But his dad caught us in one of the briefing rooms and lost it. He threw a chair and shattered the glass in the window. Then he pushed us both out. If I hadn’t landed on Kunimi’s body, I would’ve died right along with him.”

Oikawa chokes back the vomit rising in his throat. Of the infinite number of possible truths, he can’t think of one he wants to hear less than this. “Oh, Iwa-chan,” he gasps before gripping Iwaizumi in the tightest hug he can manage with the chair in the way.

Tears trickle down his face and he is an ugly crier, but Oikawa doesn’t care. No one has cried for Iwaizumi because he hasn’t given them a reason, but he told Oikawa for a purpose. He doesn’t know what that purpose is, but he has a feeling he’ll find out soon enough.

The woefully creaking door betrays a new presence in the room, and a stupidly tall young man with spiky hair strides in with a glass on a silver tray. He nearly drops the tray when he sees that Iwaizumi isn’t the only one in the room.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be here!” he cries, setting down the tray while rolling up the sleeves of his plain white button-up shirt. “Stop bothering Iwaizumi-san, or I’ll have you dragged out of the building by your hair!”

Oikawa is surprised by the vitriol in the young man’s voice, but Iwaizumi just shakes his head. “It’s all right, Kindaichi. Oikawa was just leaving.”

Though clearly dismissed, Oikawa lingers near the door long enough to see Kindaichi put a glass of water on the side table next to Iwaizumi’s chair and leave right away. Iwaizumi issues a quick ‘thank you’ and continues staring into the flames.

Outside the door, Oikawa snags Kindaichi by the arm. “How much longer are you going to let him lock himself up in there?”

Kindaichi shrinks away from the venom in Oikawa’s tone. “It’s not up to me, Oikawa-san. Iwaizumi-san doesn’t want to see anyone, and he pays me to make sure he gets what he wants.”

“So you just let him sit in there and stew over what happened to Kunimi?” Oikawa doesn’t miss that Kindaichi winces over the name. “You know, then?”

Nodding, Kindaichi smiles sadly. “I worked for Kunimi-san until the accident. Iwaizumi-san asked me to enter his service to protect me from Kunimi-san’s father because I knew about them.”

“I see,” Oikawa says more to himself than anything. “Now, tell me what’s with the glass. He seemed to know you were coming with it already, because he thought I was you when I first came in. He can’t have asked you for it, because I was in there ten minutes and no servant should take that long to fetch a glass of water. So that means it’s a regular thing.”

Kindaichi frowns and buries his face in his hands. “There’s a secret compartment in Iwaizumi-san’s wheelchair he doesn’t think I know about. There are two cyanide capsules in it. I . . . I think he wants the water so he can decide when he doesn’t want to be alive anymore.

“Usually, he just drinks the water, but sometimes, he stares at it like he’s deciding something. That’s why I just leave now. I don’t want to know.”

Oikawa blanches as he lets go of Kindaichi and flies back into the room. A strangled cry leeches from his chest as he sees Iwaizumi toss back the glass of water, and the cup almost immediately falls the floor and shatters. Ignoring the broken glass, Oikawa flings himself to his knees in front of Iwaizumi, the shards digging unheeded into his knees.

Iwaizumi begins to shake, but he manages to reach out and ruffle Oikawa’s hair before his hand drops and he grows still.

“Kindaichi!” Oikawa cries, his chest heaving. “Help!”

 

The news of Iwaizumi’s suicide doesn’t hit the wire until the next day. With Oikawa’s assistance, Kindaichi manages to steer any attention away from the house’s resident until guests stop demanding to see their elusive host. Whether they can see through Oikawa’s paper smile or Kindaichi’s green face is debatable, but it won’t take long for people to figure it out once they read about it in the paper.

Oikawa’s editor visits him at his desk with a thunderous look on his face. “We paid a hundred-thousand yen to get you into that ball, and you can’t even come back with a story?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Oikawa says, “I’m working on a better one. Iwaizumi wanted it that way.”

The editor blinked. “You spoke to him.”

Nodding, Oikawa said, “You’ll have my first draft on your desk by tomorrow morning. I have some research to do.”

With that, Oikawa begins to write, his flow broken only by periodic phone calls with various business sources and background checks on various players in this sordid tale.

He doesn’t leave his desk for anything but toilet breaks until he finishes at almost one in the morning. Shooting an email copy of the article to his boss, Oikawa dials a number he found during his research.

“Kindaichi, meet me for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oikawa- san! Of c-course. Is this about the book?”

Oikawa nods into his phone. “Yeah. Maybe then, Iwaizumi can finally find some peace. So can Kunimi, and so can you.”

Kindaichi sighs. “Thank you, Oikawa-san. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could’ve ignored what Iwaizumi-san wanted to do. I really cared about him, and I —”

When he hears Kindaichi sob on the other end of the line, Oikawa murmurs, “I know.”

 

Oikawa doesn’t sleep that night, instead using the quiet time to employ his fingers to pen the prologue of the book he decided to write only the night before.

He sits, trying to think of a title for the document, but after much thought, the only thing he can think of is:

 _A Fall from Grace: The Life and Death of Iwaizumi Hajime_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.


End file.
